


Unwanted evidence

by azziria



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Flogging, M/M, Masturbation, Non Consensual, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-12
Updated: 2011-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-20 08:43:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azziria/pseuds/azziria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an undercover op goes wrong, Danny learns something very disturbing about himself.</p><p>Kink Bingo fill. Non-con (but not rape).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwanted evidence

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a square on my [Kink Bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) card, with the prompt 'Whipping/Flogging'. Not a happy little piece, so please heed the warnings.

"String him up."

Those are three words that Danny never wants to hear again, awake or asleep. He can't do anything but stand and watch as they drag Steve across the room and shackle him to the rings set high and wide in the concrete of the wall. He fights them all the way, but his guards are two big guys, and he's clearly groggy from the beating he took earlier, his lip split and a bruise blossoming high along one cheekbone. One of the goons pulls a knife and slits Steve's t-shirt up the back and along both sleeves, pulling the rags away and tossing them aside to leave his back bare, and Danny can see the muscles flex under the tanned skin as he braces himself against his restraints, testing them.

They hold, of course they do. These scumbags are pros, after all.

There's nothing Danny can do. No mileage in him breaking his cover now, no point in both of them getting hurt. He's just praying that the backup he's called in gets here pronto, before this thing goes too far.

Moretti steps up to Steve. He's holding something in his hand, but Danny can't quite see what it is from where he's standing.

"Are you going to tell me what I want to know, McGarrett?"

Steve turns his head to look straight at him and gives him a contemptuous look. "Never." His voice is steady and clear, despite everything they've done to him so far, and Danny thinks he's never admired the man more than he does now.

Moretti smiles, a thin, nasty smile. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Commander. So why not make the sensible choice and tell me now, and save us both a lot of time and effort?"

No answer from Steve, just that stubborn set of the jaw that Danny knows so well, that means Steve's preparing himself for the long haul. Shit.

Moretti shakes his head, "If that's how you want it, Commander," and he flicks out the thing he's holding in his hand. It's a belt, Danny can see now, a thick strip of black leather studded with metal along its length and bearing a heavy buckle at the loose end. Danny's gut goes cold. Fuck, no.

Moretti steps away, pulls his arm back, and swings. The belt cracks across Steve's shoulders with a sharp sound, leaving a harsh red line across the skin, and Steve jerks and hisses. Danny can see the mark of the buckle on one shoulder, the pattern of the studs driven deep into Steve's flesh, mottling and bruising the smooth surface, and fuck, that's got to hurt.

Moretti swings again, lower this time, raising a welt across Steve's ribs and spine just under his shoulder blades. Danny can see that Steve's staring straight at the wall now, nostrils flared and lower lip bitten against the pain, but the bite of the lash draws nothing more from him than another hissed breath.

Moretti lays the third stroke at an angle, across the first two, and this time it breaks the skin, drops of blood welling up along the welt and running down Steve's back. "Are you ready to talk yet?" he asks, stepping in and running his hand across the damaged skin, dragging his fingers across the wound and smearing blood across Steve's ribs. Danny sees the shudder Steve barely suppresses, but his voice is clear, "Fuck you, Moretti. I'm not telling you anything."

Moretti shakes his head as he steps back and raises the belt again. "Such a pity, Commander. Although I must say you do make a very, very pretty picture there, all spread out with my marks across your back. What a shame we couldn't have done this under more... friendly circumstances," and this time the belt cuts low, drawing blood again, and Danny curls his fists and prays to the god he hasn't given much thought to lately that there's no kidney damage.

"Such a very pretty picture, Commander..." and the belt cracks, raising a line of blood across the middle of Steve's back, and it's not _pretty_ , Danny thinks, it's fucking _beautiful_ , the way Steve's holding himself, straight and tall and strong, despite the lines across his back and the blood smeared across that golden skin... fucking beautiful, and Danny's gut twists, and he thinks that that 's not a thought he's ever going to have again, because it's just so _wrong_.

Steve's got his head down now, he's gone away to that place they taught him about in the SEALs, that place away from the damage and the pain, and Danny wonders how long he can keep this up, how long he can stay there before he crumbles. He hopes it's long enough.

Moretti cracks the belt across Steve's back once more, driving the buckle deep into Steve's flesh and then stepping in to touch the bloody mark, fingers obscenely gentle as he caresses the wound. "So pretty... maybe when I'm done here I'll cut you down and we can find another way to amuse ourselves, McGarrett... such a pity to waste an opportunity like this..." His fingers wander down the curve of Steve's spine, tracing the pattern of welts across his skin, hand coming to rest on Steve's hip. "Would you like that, Commander?" and that's it, cover or not Danny's going to kill him, he's going to rip him to pieces with his bare hands if he has to, and he unclenches his fist, feels for his gun, and steps forward...

There's a blinding flash and a loud bang and he's knocked off his feet, curling into a ball instinctively as he goes down. Moretti and his men are down too, or reeling, dazed and disorientated, and there are dark shapes rushing in - SWAT, Danny thinks, and thank fuck for that, about time too.

He staggers to his feet, stumbling across to Steve's side, fumbling to reach up and unfasten the restraints as fast as he can, cursing at how clumsy his fingers are on the clasps. Steve lets his arms drop and sways slightly, bracing himself against the wall and turning to look at Danny. He's breathing hard, his eyes are unfocussed, and he looks like he just ran a marathon, or worse.

"Hey babe," Danny says gruffly, "You OK there?" Steve cracks him a lopsided smile, "Yeah," he says, "Things got a little rough there for a while, but I'm good..." and with that his eyes roll up and he topples towards Danny, taking him down with him as he crumples to the floor...

... and that's when Danny wakes, sweating and hard, and fuck, no, not again. It's been a week now, a week since Moretti and his men got put away, a week since the paramedics patched Steve up and sent him home, a week since Steve insisted he was absolutely fine and perfectly capable of continuing to work as though nothing had happened, thank you very much.

A week since Danny discovered this thing about himself, this terrible, horrible thing that he doesn't want to think about, that he'd rather not know. This thing that he can't stop dreaming about, and the taste of shame is sour in his mouth as he reaches down to touch himself, to feed the dirty, hot need burning low in his gut, to jack himself hard and get himself off to the thought of coming all over Steve's bruised and bloodied back.

When he's done he rolls out of bed and hits the shower. He feels ashamed, and dirty, and he wishes he could scrub the images from his head as easily as he can scrub the physical evidence from his skin. Because this is _wrong_ , it's so, so wrong, and just exactly what sort of monster does it make him?


End file.
